


The Bat Better STAY in his Belfry or His Son Might Murder Him

by CrimeAlley1048



Category: Batfamily - Fandom, Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 12:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3851572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimeAlley1048/pseuds/CrimeAlley1048
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce does stupid things when he's sick. Good thing Tim's around to keep him in check, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bat Better STAY in his Belfry or His Son Might Murder Him

Bruce was just drifting off to sleep when his door banged open. For a moment, he panicked— intruders? Ninja? Alfred on a warpath?  
As it turned out, it was none of the above. Bruce paused, halfway out of bed.  
“Tim?”  
“Don’t you _dare_ ,” said his third son, as he set his bag on top of Bruce’s comforter. “I met Alfred on the way upstairs. The quote of the day is ‘If he leaves his bed, I’ll kill you both,’ and I got a record to keep up, so if you don’t mind—”  
He gestured to the bed, and Bruce sank back in defeat. Even his kids were ordering him around today— was he getting old? He wasn’t old yet, was he?  
Tim pulled off his shoes and climbed up to sit cross-legged at the foot of the bed. “Right. So the kid says you’re sick.”  
“I’m fine,” said Bruce, because he was. Like, he could go _at least_ two rounds with Bane right now, probably, and that wasn’t bad. Tim, however, didn’t look convinced.  
“You can barely move. And he was pretty insistent.”  
“He’s exaggerating.”  
“Uh huh. So you’re seriously trying to say,” said Tim, “that Damian would voluntarily text me… without a good reason? Do you know the last time he initiated contact?”  
“No.”  
“Yeah, me neither.” Tim pulled out his phone. “Hold up, I’ll check.”  
“January fifth,” he announced, after a few seconds of scrolling.  
“That’s really not that bad.” If you factored in the months when he was dead—  
“—of 2014.”  
“Oh.”  
“Yep. So he wouldn’t have bothered if he wasn’t worried. Should I be worried, Bruce?”  
“No. I said I’m fine,” Bruce told him. “I just broke a few ribs. And my wrist. And I fell off a fire escape.” And passed out for a couple of hours in the middle of an alley. And lost a few pints of blood.  
“Well yeah, that happens,” said Tim, “when you go on patrol with the flu. Honestly, Bruce, that was really stupid.”  
“I know.”  
“That was like, Jason level stupid.”  
Speaking of— “Is he visiting too?”  
“Oh no, he’s in Taiwan,” Tim said. “Didn’t you watch the news today?”  
“No?”  
“Ah. Well.” Tim ran a hand through his hair. “That’s probably for the best.”  
“What’s he done now?”  
“I’ll let him explain.”  
Bruce sighed. Wonderful, more problems. “None of my children can behave.”  
“Um, excuse you.” Tim grabbed his bag off the covers and hefted it menacingly. “I will literally throw this pizza at your head.”  
“You brought me pizza?”  
“I bet you wouldn’t even be able to catch it.”  
“Did you get breadsticks?”  
“Can you actually move your arms?” 

“ _Breadsticks_ , Tim.”  
Tim grinned at him. “Of course I brought breadsticks. Who do you think I am?”  
“An angel from cheap Italian food heaven?”  
“Nice.” Tim slid off the bed and stepped toward the door. “I’m gonna go see if Damian wants food.”  
Even after he left, Bruce could hear him on the staircase— bare feet on the floor, vaulting the bottom flight like all of them did. “Hey, demon spawn! Pizza?” He really had grown up a lot, hadn’t he?  
And when did he get so tall?


End file.
